


Mosaic

by anonymous_member



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Eventual Smut, Heavy Angst, M/M, Other, Sad with a Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-01 11:43:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20814587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonymous_member/pseuds/anonymous_member
Summary: "It was like someone took a glass lantern, one of those lovely, fragile sorts, and crushed it against an icy shore, kicking the shards into the freezing water, ice bonding it back together as a dark, sickening mosaic of what it once was. The flame was gone, all the light and beauty and warmth were just- gone.“Now I can only remember flashes of before. If I try to remember, try to focus, it feels like I’m going to go mad. I sometimes get it in my dreams, just the aftertaste of what it was like to be holy, to be loved. Never enough to actually feel it again, just enough to scrape the wounds, keep them fresh. The memory of what I was, it’s like hunger, ravenous, empty. Like nothing, but not numbness. Just the constant reminder that I’ll never be whole again, that I can’t be whole again.”





	Mosaic

“To the world.”

“To the world.” 

_ And to us.  _ Aziraphale thinks to himself, the clink of their glasses hanging in the air for a moment like the distant tolling of a bell. It seems that, for now at least, everything is right with the world once more. 

Crowley has been quieter than usual since their transition back to their respective bodies. Of course, it has taken Aziraphale literal millenia to grasp even an inkling of what was going through the demon’s head at any given moment, It may just be another passing mood, and so, he doesn’t comment on it. Well, he won’t comment on it yet, that is.

“I can see the waiters eyeing us from over there,” Aziraphale gestures toward the far wall, careful to make it seem as though the movement is merely a part of their conversation. Crowley doesn’t turn, but Aziraphale sees a glint of movement behind his glasses and knows he’s taken a glance, “We’ve been here a while now, I’m sure they’re antsy for this table to be free again.”

“Ah, let them be antsy, Angel, it’s what humans do.”

“Well, I thought perhaps we could make all parties more comfortable and head back to mine.”

Crowley’s contented smile flickers and an expression that looks as though he’s suddenly remembered something unpleasant crosses his features, lingering long enough for Aziraphale to know it was largely out of his control.

“If there’s something you must see to, I really don’t mind-”

“Hm? Oh no, Angel, that- I’ve nothing else- it would be fine. That sounds lovely.”

Aziraphale blinks for a second at his broken speech, but he gets the idea and rises to gather their things and pay the bill.

Crowley lingers as he does so, staring blankly down at their table until he’s finished paying and complimenting the baffled waiters. As they turn to go Crowley begins a stiff, silent march to the car.

That settles it, then. Something is definitely up. It’s lucky they’re headed back to his, though, because the best (if not only) way to get Crowley to talk is to get him drunk.

They’d both had nearly a bottle each at the Ritz, and knowing Crowley, he could likely take two bottles more if left to his devices, perhaps even three or four. All Aziraphale had to do from there was ask the right questions and stay sober enough to remember the answers.

Music begins to blare from the stereo (somehow unbothered by the lack of speakers) as Crowley starts the engine, but he quickly moves to shut it off, locking his eyes forward as he pulls onto the street, his face a mask of stone. Aziraphale is beginning to get worried now. If this is one of Crowley’s moods, it’s a bad one. He opens his mouth to break the silence, but finds he doesn’t know what to say and shuts it again.

The Bentley pulls to an abrupt stop in front of the freshly unruined bookshop. Aziraphale can’t help the gasp of joy that escapes him at the sight. He’s so excited he nearly doesn’t notice the soft smile Crowley adopts as he puts the car in park so Aziraphale can get out- nearly.

Aziraphale runs up the front step, leaving the passenger door ajar in his haste. Crowley walks around to shut with something between a scoff and a laugh. He follows as Aziraphale flits about in nervous wonder, noting where his books have gone with the new organization, and stopping to squint at the many new additions to the collection before deeming them worthy and moving to the next row. Crowley leans against the front desk and watches, glad Aziraphale was adequately distracted, if only for a few minutes. 

“Dear boy!” Aziraphale shouts from somewhere between the shelves, “This calls for celebration!”

“Didn’t we just do that?” Crowley calls back.

“Well, yes...” Aziraphale emerges from the stacks, somehow having gotten dust in his hair from his short excursion. Logically, there should be no dust in a building that was literally brand-new, but of course, such things as logic do not apply to the bookshop, and the dust was just as much a part of it as the speaker-less music was a part of the Bentley.

“But I see no harm in a bit more. I’ll be right back, go ahead and make yourself comfortable in the back.”

Aziraphale bustles past and Crowley watches him go, his smile fading as the angel turns a corner. He sighs heavily and begins making his way to the backroom, dodging the stacks of books easily. 

“What am I doing?” He barely whispers, tucking himself into the corner of the sofa. 

Normally he would sprawl out, but the close contact is comforting. The pressure against his skin grounds him and he tries his best to keep his mind from racing. Aziraphale hasn’t said anything yet, so it’s probably fine. He frowns as that thought brings nearly as much discontent as it would if he felt Aziraphale  _ had _ noticed something… had seen him. 

He shakes the thought away as Aziraphale’s footsteps approach, but it lingers just under the surface, unwilling to drown.

“I can’t quite remember if this one was one of mine, or if it’s new addition, but either way…” Aziraphale rambles, shuffling about as he looks for the corkscrew. 

In truth, he knew exactly where the bottle came from because he had miracled it just moments ago. It was very dry, far drier than he would normally go for, but it was more Crowley’s style and the sooner he put his inhibitions aside, the sooner Aziraphale could try and help.

He pours two glasses, handing the fuller one to Crowley who only whispers and absent-minded ‘thanks’ and seems to sink further into the sofa. Aziraphale isn’t sure whether Crowley’s hand was shaking when he took the glass, or if it was merely a trick of the light. Crowley just stares at the glass, resting his arm tight against his side. It’s really not Crowley’s nature to tuck himself up like that. Aziraphale frowns into his wine and takes a sip, watching his companion over the rim.

When Crowley fails to follow suit Aziraphale places his glass down on the table with a sigh.

“Crowley, what’s going on?”

“Huh?” Crowley glances up at him, seemingly surprised to be addressed.

“You haven’t said a word since the ritz, something is wrong, never seen you ignore a glass of wine.”

“Oh I’m just-” He trails softly, “just tired I suppose.”

Aziraphale frowns at that. This isn’t Crowley's usual tired, this is... soul-weary.

“You can sleep if you-”

“No.” Crowley says too sharply, grip on his glass becoming tight before he realizes what he’s doing and relaxes again. “Sorry, sorry, I just- not right now.” he offers a weak, almost reassuring smile.

Aziraphale is not reassured.

“Crowley,” He starts softly, Crowley looks away, “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“Wrong? No, I’m- I’m fine.” He quickly takes a large gulp of wine, downing nearly half the glass.

“Right.” Aziraphale sarcastically agrees, heart aching as he is reminded that after all this time Crowley still won’t trust him, “...right.”

Crowley downs the rest of his wine, setting the glass back on the table with definitely-shaking hands.

“Sorry angel, not very- well- y’know. I’m off today is all. You were right, I should probably go sleep it off.”

He gets up to go, but Aziraphale catches his wrist before he can dart out of the room, “Wait, dear, what’s going on, this isn’t like you.” Aziraphale leans closer and crowley has to fight with every fiber of himself not to lean into the touch or gasp at the warmth encompassing his wrist. He’s so close, he could lean forward-

“No,” his voice cracks and he gently pulls his hand from Aziraphale’s grip, turning away, “It’s alright angel, really, I’m just tired.”

“Crowley, I’m not stupid, I can tell when you’re lying to me. Please, dear, tell me what’s wrong.”

Crowley’s shoulders droop even further, a frustrated sigh escaping him. Might as well ruin this now. It will have to happen eventually.

  
“Did you-did you see anything? See me?”

“Did I- What?”

“When we switched did you see me? My- eh- did you see…” Crowley trails off, shuddering.

“What do you mean ‘did I see you?’ Crowley, dear, what is the matter? You’re shaking like a leaf.” Aziraphale takes hold of his shoulders to try and ground him to the present.

“Stop,” Crowley croaks, guiding Aziraphale’s hands off his shoulders with gentle, skaking, hands, “Don’t- It’s fine, forget I said anything. It’s late, I should-”

“Crowley, don’t you dare think for one second that I’m going to send you off in this condition. Now, you’re not leaving until you tell me what’s wrong. Something is bothering you, dear, just talk to me.”

Crowley makes a strangled noise and takes off his glasses, revealing his panicked eyes. He fumbles as he tries to clean the already smudge-free lenses with the hem of his shirt.

“I-it’s- I-”

“Crowley.” Aziraphale places a comforting hand on his arm, taking the glasses from him and cleaning them on his own shirt. “Take a breath, dear, you’re safe here.”

Crowley seems to do the opposite in response to Aziraphale’s words, his breath hitching in his throat. Aziraphale offers him a comforting smile and places the glasses back in his hand. He locks eyes with the demon, trying to decode the issue from his eyes alone. He can’t tell much, but whatever it is, it’s paining Crowley terribly.

“Hm, right.” Crowley clears his breath, moving to put the glasses on again, but freezing halfway and sighing, dropping them to the floor, “Aziraphale, when we switched did you see my soul? Or form, or what-have-you?”

Aziraphale is taken aback, of all the things he had thought might be the matter, this wasn’t one of them. Not even remotely.

“No my dear, but surely it can’t be-”

“It is. It’s, well, I’ll have to show you at some point I suppose, no time like the present, right?”

“Crowley, you don’t have to-”

“No, Angel, it’s alright I just- well. I suppose first I’ll have to tell you… everything.”

“...Okay, I’m listening.”

“Right.” He takes a shaky breath, “So, when I, erm, fell, the Almighty was particularly not pleased with me, and I’ve suspected you may have something to do with that-”

“Me? What-”

“I’ll get to it Angel, I promise. Just- let’s sit down, shall we?”

Aziraphale nods, following Crowley back to the sofa. They each take an end and Aziraphale refills Crowley’s wine. He takes it with a nod of thanks and downs nearly the entire glass.

“When I fell, well, let me just describe it for you. It’s hard to imagine without having actually had it happen to you, but I'll do my best.”

Aziraphale nods, wanting to reach out and take Crowley’s hand in his own, to reassure him without having to use words, but not wanting to make him more uncomfortable than he already had.

“I-imagine having everything you thought you knew, about the world, about yourself, all of it, wrended into pieces and having your mind forcefully pulled apart, then having to try to put all the pieces back in the right place. It makes sense that so many demons get it so wrong. 

“The- the pain of it is like nothing I’ve ever known, before or since. It was almost like being burned by the opposite of fire. Tongues of impossibly cold vacuum trying to consume you, licking like flames. I could feel it settle in my chest, could feel it burrowing into the very core of my essence, filling the space that love and, and  _ purpose _ once occupied. I could feel, distantly beyond the pain of my existence being, well, torn apart, my bone marrow expanding as it froze, cracking my bones from the inside out.” A sob escapes him in a shuddering breath and Aziraphale has to employ all of his self-control not to pull him into an embrace. Crowley looks away as a tear escapes, spilling down his cheek and catching the light.

“But I couldn’t- I couldn’t just break once. I couldn’t  _ stay  _ broken. My- my vessel just kept putting itself back together. It wouldn’t give up, couldn’t allow the disfigurement. So, I felt my flesh melt and reform, felt it tear away from my shattered and re-shattered bones. But my soul, oh that was so much worse, so, so much worse.”

“Crowley, you really dont have t-”

“Yes, yes I do, Angel.”

“Okay,” Aziraphale is desperately fighting back tears of his own now.

“It was like someone took a glass lantern, one of those lovely, fragile sorts, and crushed it against an icy shore, kicking the shards into the freezing water, ice bonding it back together as a dark, sickening mosaic of what it once was. The flame was gone, all the light and beauty and warmth were just- gone.

“Now I can only remember flashes of before. If I try to remember, try to focus, it feels like I’m going to go mad. I sometimes get it in my dreams, just the aftertaste of what it was like to be holy, to be loved. Never enough to actually feel it again, just enough to scrape the wounds, keep them fresh. The memory of what I was, it’s like hunger, ravenous, empty. Like nothing, but not numbness. Just the constant reminder that I’ll never be whole again, that I  _ can’t  _ be whole again.”

“Oh, Crowley-” Aziraphale takes his hand, but Crowley just gives him a watery smile and removes it.

“-And then I met you, and it all made sense. It’s no use putting me in hell, not when you’re up here. Go- just, dammit, Aziraphale, it hurts. It hurts  _ so bad. _ ”

“Crowley I don’t- I don’t understand, what-”

“You were kind to me. You  _ are  _ kind to me, and I felt it, really felt it, what I had wanted for so long and been unable to even  _ remember. _ Every time it hits me I have to remind myself that you don’t- you-” He has to pause to clear his throat, knowing there’s no going back now, “I remember that you don’t love me back and it feels like my soul is being torn apart all over again.”

Aziraphale’s wine glass drops to the ground, the rim chipping as it collides with the hardwood, dark red droplets splattering like the blood of a sacrifice. 

“Crowley,” he breathes, staring into his golden eyes. Crowley’s gaze flits away and he shifts, perhaps getting ready to leave.

Aziraphale darts forward to catch Crowley’s face in his hands, leaning close and forcing the demon to meet his gaze.

“Do you mean that?” He knows the answer before the words have passed his lips, Crowley’s eyes say it all.

“Oh my dear boy, and for six thouand years you thought I didn’t- well, I suppose I could have said something.”

“Aziraphale, what are you-?”

“I love you, too.”

Crowley freezes and Aziraphale can’t help the exasperated laugh that escapes him, to think all this time, they’ve been dancing around each other.

“You what?” Crowley finally rasps.

“Love you, dear.” Aziraphale will repeat it as many times are necessary. He’ll say it until his lungs turn to dust, so long as it means Crowley will hear it.

“But I thought-”

“Yes well, we both-”

“No. I thought you were my punishment. I thought loving you… I thought it was my hell.”

It was Aziraphale’s turn to freeze.

“You thought I was… your punishment?”

“Yes.”

“And still, you stayed? You kept coming back, helping me...”

“Always, Angel. If being with you was bad, being without you was, worse than anything.”

“Can I…” Aziraphale trails, not certain Crowley would appreciate the contact.

“What is it, Angel?”

“Can I kiss you?”

“Anything.” Crowley breathes, Aziraphale’s hold on him feeling like fire, warming him rather than burning, “You can do anything, Angel, please.”

Their lips connect and Crowley has to dig his nails into his palm to avoid moaning into the heat. He buries a hand in the angel’s curls, deepening the kiss desperately. Aziraphale obliges, pushing them flush against each other and wrapping his arms around Crowley’s middle, enveloping him. This time Crowey can’t hold it back, a strangled moan escaping him at Aziraphale’s touch. He was going to go mad, but he found he didn’t care.

“Show me.” Aziraphale whispers between kisses.

“Are you sure?” Crowley uses whatever is left of his self-control to stop them, looking Aziraphale in the eye so he can be certain that the angel really wants that.

“Yes.”

Crowley nods, re-establishing his hold on Aziraphale, but this time merely pressing their foreheads together.

“Close your eyes,” He whispers.

He knows the instant the veil has dropped, hears Aziraphale’s gasp.

“Oh Crowley, you’re-”

“-Broken.”

“No, you’re…beautiful.” Aziraphale breathes.

It was true, Crowley was shattered, his form covered in spider-webbed cracks, but something must have changed, because a beautiful golden light shone from the cracks. Six wings, golden sign of the healing serpent coiled around his arms, he was familiar.

“Raphael.”

“Once, yes, but no longer.”

“Good.”

Crowley opens his eyes at that, his true form fading from view, “What?”

“I like Crowley much better.”

Crowley feels a grin split his face, “Aziraphale, I do have one more thing to say.”

“Yes?”

“Can I kiss you?”

Aziraphale pulls him back into his embrace, placing them flush chest-to-chest, connecting their lips with a new wave of passion. Crowley leans back, allowing Aziraphale to press him into the sofa. Aziraphale’s hands traced trails of fire over his skin searing a new memory, a new holiness, into his very being.

Aziraphale shifts above him, placing a knee between his legs. Crowley gasps at the friction, a low groan escaping him.

“Is this okay?” Aziraphale pants between kisses.

“Okay? Angel, this is incredible, please,” He wasn’t even sure what he was asking, but he wanted more, he wanted everything Aziraphale was willing to give.

Aziraphale seemed to understand, slipping his hands beneath Crowley’s shirt, raising goosebumps wherever his hands traveled. Removing them only to unbutton his waistcoat and throw it side, working on the buttons of Crowley’s jacket next.

Try as he might, Crowley couldn’t control the gasps and moans that were escaping him.

“Aziraphale, please.” He spreads his legs, pressing his whole body up into Aziraphale’s.

This time Aziraphale groans, surprised at the sudden friction and more than a little surprised and Crowley’s sudden need.

“Alright, let me just-”

Crowley lets out a frustrated whine that sends Aziraphale’s blood flow sharply downward. Suddenly there are no more clothes to remove, just Crowley spread below him, flushed with pleasure and completely helpless, his pupils blown wide beneath half-lidded eyes.

“You’re gorgeous.” Aziraphale whispers.

Crowley answers by pulling Aziraphale back down on top of himself, catching him in another passionate kiss. Aziraphale let’s his hands wander all over Crowley’s skin, reveling in the smoothness, the heat radiating from wherever they touch. He takes Crowley in his hand and a keening moan escapes the demon as he arches up into him.

“Aziraphale, please.” He pants again, spreading his legs further and pressing as much of their bodies together as possible.

“But you’re not-”

“I took care of it, just, please. I need-” He breaks off into a moan as Aziraphale pumps him twice in quick succession, lining his cock up with Crowley’s entrance. He nearly moans just feeling the slickness dripping around it, it seems that Crowley had, indeed, taken care of it.

“ _ Please, _ ” Crowley groans, pressing himself against Aziraphale impatiently.

“Of course, dear.” Aziraphale feels them both moan into the kiss as he enters Crowley, taking his lower lip in his teeth.

He thrusts shallowly a few times, making sure that Crowley was as prepared as he claimed he was. Crowley moans with each one, wrapping his legs around Aziraphale to try and make him go deeper. Aziraphale happily obliges, crying out as he’s fully enveloped by Crowley’s slick heat. After a moment to gather his wits, he starts to move, angling to search for the spot that would drive Crowley insane. He knows he’s found it when Crowley arches up, practically screaming, tightening around Aziraphale. He nearly cums right then.

He pulls back just a bit, hitting it again and again, turning Crowley into a moaning, babbling mess below him. He looks absolutely stunning.

Aziraphale picks up his pace, knowing neither of them are going to last much longer. 

“Az- Aziraphale, I’m going, ah, I’m close.” Crowley says between gasps.

“I know, me too.” Aziraphale offers, pushing a bit harder, his thrusts growing sloppy.

Suddenly, Crowley is tightening around him, screaming his name as his wings spring from their hold in the aether. Aziraphale rides him through with shallow thrusts, cumming inside him with an explosion of heat and light.

When he comes to again, Crowley is running his hands lazily through his hair, both their wings out, enveloping them in a feathery cocoon.

“Stay with me.” Aziraphale whispers, trailing a hand down Crowley’s chest.

“Always.” Comes the answer, gentle as a spring breeze, his voice and soul somehow lighter.

Perhaps being whole doesn’t mean being the same as before, because where before he was a lantern, now he is a mosaic, and none the less for it.

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
